What to Really Expect When You're Expecting
by jen3
Summary: Ron and Hermione are married and pregnant...Be afraid. Be very afraid. 515 Chapter Three is up...and the story is finished!
1. In which Ron Learns how Not to Behave Ar...

A/N: Thanks to Zsenya over at sugarquill

A/N: Thanks to Zsenya over at sugarquill.com for beta reading! 

In this story, Ron and Hermione are both 20 and have been married for a few months and now live in an apartment in Muggle London. Ron is a pediatrician (because I want him to be one) and Hermione works for the Ministry; specifically, for the Experimental Charms department. I think that's all the info you need to understand what's going on…

I disclaim everything, par usual.

****

What to Really Expect When You're a Wizard Expecting

Or: 

Ron, Hermione, and Pregnancy

****

Part 1

Ron didn't like riding on the bus. He was a wizard, and he should be able to just Apparate like normal people, he had said; however, Hermione had proceeded to point out that they were living in a Muggle area, and therefore would travel the Muggle way so that the neighbors would not get suspicious. At the time, he had grudgingly agreed and taken the bus, but now he had put it all behind him and was ready to give Hermione a firm kick in the rear, wife or not. Admittedly, he would not be able to do much damage in his current condition—that, too, was her fault—but he was sure that it would make him feel much better than he was feeling at the moment. 

It had all started eight months ago, when he had arrived home from work to find Hermione sitting nervously on the couch, apparently waiting for him to walk through the door. An odd conversation had taken place; she had asked how he felt about children, and he, being thick, as usual, had replied with something a little insensitive in a very joking manner. She had stood up in horror and started to scold him; he replied with amazement, still wondering what was wrong, and a very heated argument had ensued. _You idiot_, he thought to himself, even then as he recalled the fight on the bus. It was obvious to him now what had been going on that day…

***

"Hermione, I was only kidding!" Ron reassured in vain, attempting to move toward her. "I want kids someday! Really! I just don't want you waddling around right now like a poor, misplaced duck, puking at every odd smell and pulling me away to Lamaze classes—"

"THAT'S IT!" Hermione yelled, face burning red, pulling out her wand. "I am giving you five seconds to take back what you just said!"

"No, sorry, I'm not taking it back, because I mean it!"

"You're choice! _ADDO GRAVIDITAS_!"

Ron suddenly was suddenly jolted back and felt a hot, pinching pain in his lower abdomen; when he looked down, he saw that it was glowing red. He was tingling all over; when he went to touch his stomach the light subsided, but the twinge of pain stayed where it was. Looking up with a questioning look on his face, his eyes met with those of the extraordinarily vengeful Hermione, who was breathing heavily and holding her wand with fury.

"Hermione," he asked, delicately but firmly and a little apprehensively, "what was the spell that you just cast?"

She remained silent, her glare losing some of its potency and becoming more of a firm stare.

"Hermione," he inquired again, waiting to go on in order to give her a chance to speak. She did not seize the opportunity, so he continued. "What was that row all about?"

Again, she just stared hardly at him, a softer look creeping over her features.

"Why were you so upset when I was just joking about not wanting to have…kids…." Ron trailed off and his face suddenly grew soft. "Are…are you…_pregnant_?" he asked, stunned at the possibility. 

Her eyes shifted to the side.

"Are you?!" Ron questioned loudly, throwing his arms into the air.

"Well," she began, moving her gaze to the ceiling, "how shall I put this?"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TELL ME THAT YOU WERE PREGNANT IN THE FIRST PLACE! I CAN'T READ YOUR BLOODY MIND, YOU KNOW!" Ron hollered. Hermione ignored him.

"I'm not pregnant now." Her voice made Ron cease his yelling. 

"Then what—"

"That's not to say that I wasn't pregnant a minute ago…"

Ron began to feel slightly sick…he again put his hands on his stomach; the pain had gone, but he wasn't entirely sure what it had meant. It wasn't…it couldn't be…

"What did that spell do?" Ron asked firmly, beginning to get angry again.

"Well, it's a very old spell, and…oh Ron, please, I wasn't myself, you know how it gets when—"

"What did that spell do, Hermione?" Ron repeated.

"Look, everything will be alright, I promise, no one will be hurt, and you'll come out of it all the better—"

"WHAT DID THAT SPELL DO?!" Ron finally yelled.

"Shh, the neighbors will hear you—"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE BLOODY NEIGHBORS, WHAT THE HELL DID THAT SPELL DO?"

Hermione began to look sheepish for the first time that argument/evening. "Ron," she started, staring straight at him, "You're pregnant."

"What." It was more of a statement than a question.

"You're pregnant."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are."

"I am NOT pregnant!"

"I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but you are."

"I CAN'T BE PREGNANT!"

"Shh, you'll upset the zygote," Hermione scolded, placing a hand on Ron's tummy. Ron backed away.

"I can't be pregnant," he repeated, shaking his head and backing toward the wall as Hermione edged toward him.

"Yes, you can be, and you are," she said, gently but firmly.

"No, I can't!"

"Why not, then?" she asked, giving in just to see what he would come up with.

"Because…because…because it's biologically impossible!" He stated triumphantly. "How would I have it? Through my arse? I think not! I'm a doctor and I happen to know that those two systems are just not connected!" Ron did not look nearly as sure of himself as he sounded.

"Oh, well, the spell accounts for that, Ron…" Hermione lightly consoled, eyebrows furrowed to match the nervous smile plastered across her face.

Ron paled and looked down. "You mean you just took away my—"

"No, I didn't," Hermione snapped, all pity and remorse suddenly drained from her voice. "If the spell had taken _that_ away you would have at least gained the ounce of sense required to realize if it's there or not!"

Ashen faced, Ron rushed off to the bathroom. Hermione collapsed on a chair and waited.

"EEEEEEEEEEAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Obviously, she wouldn't have to wait for very long.

Ron ran back out into the front room, zipping up his pants.

"I'M A—A—YOU'VE TURNED ME INTO A TRANSVESTITE!" Ron yelled, pointing a finger at her.

"No, Ron, a transvestite is someone who simply dresses like the opposite sex. I believe the word you're searching for is 'hermaphrodite,' meaning one who—"

"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT MEANS, ALL I KNOW IS THAT I'VE GOT A—"

"SHH!" Hermione hissed, apparently not feeling any sympathy for Ron's rage over his newly acquired genitalia. 

"How the hell am I supposed to piss? Through both at once? Make even more of an arse of myself than I will through being a grown man walking around PREGNANT? Oh my…I'm pregnant…I'm having a bloody baby…"

"It's not _a_ bloody baby; it's _your_ bloody baby!" Hermione shot, standing with noticeable anger. "And just be thankful that you're not going to grow breasts!"

"I can't believe you did this!"

"Me either," Hermione grimaced. "I gave _you_ my pregnancy…"

"You're treating this like a joke!" he yelled.

"No I'm not! Do I _look_ like I'm treating it like a joke?" 

"Then why did you do this? Couldn't you do something more logical, like make me sleep on the couch for a month?"

"I was very sensitive to things you said at the time; hormones, you know…and now you are as well—"

"_Sensitive_ isn't the word I'd use to describe it."

"Ron, be reasonable—"

"I'M PREGNANT, NOT REASONABLE! NOW HOW DO YOU REVERSE IT?"

"You don't. If the baby is moved one more time, then it will die."

Ron stood still, fuming, unable to fully perceive what was taking place and staring at Hermione like she was someone he had never truly seen before.

"That's it! I'm leaving!"

"Ron—"

"NO!" he yelled, shaking her off and stomping out the door. Hermione sank into the couch as she watched after him, regret beginning to creep into her. However, if she knew one person inside and out, it was Ron, and she knew that he would be back eventually. She would make it up to him when he returned, perhaps promise to go with him to a Quidditch game every weekend. That would work.

***

As soon as Ron had stepped into the hall, he Apparated in search of the only person he knew of that could possibly console him at this difficult time: Harry. He was home for the week. Usually he was off traveling as Seeker for the Montrose Magpies; however, the team did not have a game that particular week, so he had come home. He promptly appeared outside of Harry's house and knocked furiously, his face still red from the argument with Hermione.

Soon, he heard footsteps approaching the door and the sound of a chain lock being unhooked, and a surprised and pleased Harry opened the door.

"Ron! How are you?" he asked with a grin. "Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow; come on in."

Glaring, Ron obeyed and followed Harry to his small living room, where Ron sat down and brooded while Harry poured some tea. When Harry finally entered the room, he had a shocked and sorrowful look on his face. Ron immediately became worried.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"I was just consulting the tea leaves," he replied, "and they told me that something was grievously wrong in the life of a good friend—perhaps, it will result in _death_?"

Ron laughed. "Oh geez – Trelawney - don't remind me of her. Not now."

"Well, what's wrong then?"

"Nothing that will result in death, unless it's Hermione's."

"What's wrong with Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I'm going to kill her."

"That's not good."

"She deserves it!" Ron spat, spilling some tea in his outburst.

"What did she do? She didn't cheat on you, did she?" 

"No!" Ron snarled, nursing his burned hand.

"Then what?"

Though Ron was ready to curse Hermione straight to her grave, he suddenly discovered that he was not ready to admit to his best friend that he was pregnant. He blushed a violent scarlet and glared at his teacup.

"What, Ron?" Harry asked again.

"Hermione and I had a fight."

"About what?"

"She asked me what I thought about kids…I said that I had grown up with enough of them and that I worked with too many, and that I never wanted to look at one ever again."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I was kidding!"

"Go on."

"Anyway, then she got mad, and she yelled, and I yelled back, and she yelled again, and we were yelling for quite a bit of time, and I had no idea what was going on…"

Harry didn't want to say anything, but he thought his friend very thick at the moment.

"… like a poor misplaced duck, going to Lamaze classes and puking every second, and then she got even madder and, er…" Ron trailed off. Harry noticed that he was gripping his cup harder than necessary.

"Then?"

"Then she got out her wand."

"What did she do with her wand?"

"Cast a spell."

"What did that spell do?"

Ron didn't answer directly, and Harry stared at him, pondering the possibilities. He felt sorry for him. Hermione must have done something like force him to sleep on the couch for a month; he, too, had been a victim of the Dormio Lectulus spell, and though his girlfriend had eventually reversed the spell out of pity, he had felt the effects for a week. 

"Something very bad."

"Dormio Lectulus?"

"I wish."

"What, then?"

"…"

"Out with it; it can't be that bad."

"It is." Ron was now making himself very small, wishing that he hadn't gone to seek consolation after all. 

"I won't laugh, I promise."

Ron sighed. He would have to tell him sometime. "Promise?"

"Yes."

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he said, "She made me pregnant."

Harry was silent. When Ron dared to crack open his eyes, he saw Harry sitting in front of him with a very tightly closed mouth and watery eyes.

"I'm going to get some more tea," he squeezed out and walked quickly to the kitchen. Ron glared as he saw his shoulders shaking through the open door. When Harry came back (without tea, incidentally) he was calmer, and asked,

"So, how exactly are you pregnant?"

"It turned out that she was pregnant when she was asking me about having kids. That's why she brought it up."

Harry knew better than to say something along the lines of "Congratulations, you're an idiot." 

"And she transferred the pregnancy to me."

"How exactly are you going to have this baby?"

Ron turned even redder. "Let's just say that I now have all the necessary equipment."

"Oops, look, last time I went into the kitchen I forgot my tea…I'll be right back," Harry said, walking back into the kitchen. 

Ron was not happy as he saw Harry's shoulders shaking again and witnessed him pounding the kitchen counter. He didn't think it was very funny; he'd come to him to be comforted and all he received was laughter. 

Harry walked back into the room, still without tea. "So you're really pregnant then?"

"_Yes_," Ron growled, putting his tea on the coffee table and slumping backwards on the couch.

Harry stared at his friend with a smile on his face. "Did you walk out on her?"

"Sort of."

"You are planning on going back, right?"

"What the hell else am I going to do?"

"Admit it, Ron, you _were_ kind of thick back there…"

"She didn't have to make me pregnant."

"Pregnant women are very emotional, especially since you two hadn't planned the pregnancy. She was probably very nervous, and then you came in and said that you never wanted children or a wife waddling around like a duck."

"Well I had no idea what she was talking about…and besides, I was only _joking_! How was I supposed to know that she meant what she meant? It's not like she came right out and said, 'Ron, I'm pregnant,' and _then_ I said what I said."

Harry decided not to push the issue; Ron was argumentative enough without the aid of excessive hormones. "Well, do you want to stay here for the night? Janie's off visiting her parents in Edinburgh, so there's no objections here."

"That will be good, thanks…I don't want to see _her_."

"Yes, you do. You can't stand it when you're mad at her for more than twenty minutes; you get all antsy and irritable and the like."

"I'm not 17 anymore, and I'm beyond the infatuation stage, thank you very much."

"Some things never change, Ron."

"Shut up. This is a bit more serious than her insulting my intelligence."

"Anyway, you can have the guest room. Just clean it up, or Janie gets mad."

"*cough* Under-her-thumb *cough*"

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Pouting, Ron began to tear apart his napkin and arrange the shreds into little piles on the coffee table. Harry observed this, and decided that maybe he should really put some effort into consoling him.

"Er….Hey, Ron, being pregnant…uh…won't be so bad…"

"Yes it will!"

Harry didn't have anything to say at this, and started to fidget with his hands. "So, do you want to go get a drink?"

"Well, I would, but I'm pregnant! Alcohol causes birth defects!" Ron was beginning to look a little angry, and Harry decided that he should probably put an end to the evening before it got any worse (and then telephone Hermione (the fireplace was in the guest room) as soon as Ron was asleep to get the other side of the situation).

"You know what? You're tired, and you've had a long day…I think you should go to sleep," said Harry seriously.

Ron opened his mouth, seemingly to oblige, but then something seemed to click in his head and he looked at Harry suspiciously. "Wait a minute, I know what you're playing at," he began. "You're trying to get rid of me so you can call Hermione and laugh about me behind my back! Some friend you are!"

"No, that's not it…" Harry tried to interject, but he had failed at his cause; Ron was awake until 4:37 that morning, when he fell asleep sitting in a chair.

When this happened, Harry tip toed out of the room and shut the door as quietly as he could, praying that Ron was indeed down for the count, and dialed the Weasleys' number. He heard it ring six times, and he sighed, thinking that Hermione must not have gotten up to answer the phone. The answering machine picked up, and Ron's voice came through the phone.

"Hi, you've reached Ron and Hermione, and we're not here, so leave a message after the beep, and if we like you, we might actually return your call." 

"Hi, Hermione, it's Harry…just so you know, Ron's here, and—"

There was a click. "Hello? Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me," Harry whispered.

"Hi, how is Ron?"

"Pissed off. Why did you have to go and do that?"

"He was being an idiot."

"That was pretty harsh for just being an idiot."

"Someone needed to teach him a lesson…"

"That was a mean lesson."

"Still!"

"Still nothing, how would you like it if someone made you…oh, I don't know…"

"Harry, I'm a girl. Anything physically embarrassing and uncomfortable that can possibly happen to me _already_ happens to me."

"Why didn't you just make him sleep on the couch for a month?"

"I have needs, too."

"Oh geez. I never thought I'd hear _you_, of all people, say that."

Hermione's voice became noticeably sharper. "Look, I just wasn't thinking very clearly at the time. I see now that it was a very stupid idea, and I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Little late for that, eh?"

"_Harry._"

"I'm only teasing you, Hermione. I'm sorry. Oh, and congratulations on the baby."

"You better be. And thank you." She paused. "Ron isn't too upset, is he?"

"He's calming down, and he plans on being back tomorrow sometime."

"Good, I was almost getting worried."

"Glad to hear it." Suddenly, without warning, the door to Harry's room burst open and Ron began to yell.

"YOU'RE TALKING TO _HER_, AREN'T YOU?"

"Not anymore," Harry replied, thinking quickly and tossing Ron the phone. "Here!" He ran out of the room.

"Hello?" called a distant voice from the phone being clutched in Ron's angry fist. "Harry? Anyone there?"

"I'm here," Ron said into the receiver, deciding to get the inevitable conversation over with.

"Ron?"

"What?"

"I'm really sorry. I acted harshly and impulsively, and I know you won't ever forgive me for what I've done…" she went on in her apology, sugar coating it to great extents so that Ron would feel like an empowered and domineering male who was actually in control of a situation. "…and I'm really, really, really sorry, and I—"

"Hermione," he interrupted softly, "it's alright. I mean, it's not alright, but I guess I can forgive you."

"You can?"

"'Till death do us part and all that rubbish…"

Hermione didn't answer straight away. Ron heard her breathing through the phone, and wished they were talking through the fireplace instead; it was creepy hearing her voice so distorted, and being able to hear her breathing and not see her face.

"When are you coming home?" she asked when she finally spoke.

"After work today."

"Alright. I love you, Ron."

"I, er, love you too," Ron responded, finding difficulty with the words, as much as he wanted to/knew he should say them. They hung up, and Ron ambled to the guestroom and collapsed on the bed, a feeling of dread for the future surrounding him every step of the way. 

***

Three days later, Ron woke from his sleep with a horrible feeling in his stomach. Panicking, he jumped from the bed and ran into the bathroom. Hermione stirred at the sound of him retching into the toilet, and sat up as she heard the water running. Soon, she watched as Ron staggered back into the room and collapsed onto the bed. 

"Uuuugghhh…" he groaned, curling up into the fetal position. Hermione looked at the clock (5:46), and mentally reviewed the fact that she didn't have to be awake until 7:00. Ron moaned again, and she sighed, rolling over to address her husband.

"Shh, it's okay," she mumbled as she began to massage his back.

"I threw up," he mumbled back, noticeably relaxing at her touch.

"I know," she replied.

"Can I stay home from work today?"

"No, you have to go in."

"But I threw up…"

"And, sorry, but you will throw up a lot from now on."

"This isn't fair!" he whined.

"No, it's not." She could sense him opening his mouth to comment that it was all her fault. "And thanks for not bringing up the fight again."

He did not reply, and with relief she realized that her plan had worked. Soon, he fell back asleep, and she got up with the rare goal of making an actual breakfast.

An hour later, Ron woke to the smell of bacon, and without warning rushed to the toilet again. As he was puking and trying not to sweat, tremble, and feel his burning throat, he wondered if maybe Hermione would allow him to stay home from work, after all...he _had_ thrown up twice.

Ron walked into the kitchen, still looking green, but to his surprise he found that Hermione wasn't there.

"Hermione?" he called, wondering where she was. She didn't answer, and to his dismay he did not feel like eating anything at all, let alone bacon. "Figures, the one time she cooks breakfast is the day that I'm too sick to even think about eating it," he growled, glowering to himself as he poured a cup of tea. As he was making his way back to the table, Hermione suddenly walked into the room.

"Incidentally, I heard that," she began haughtily.

"Where were you?" Ron asked suspiciously, ignoring her comment.

"Looking up something at the library," she replied, walking quickly to the counter and spooning out some breakfast.

"Why?" he asked, his suspicion growing.

"To help you, if you must know. I was looking up a cure for morning sickness." She was eating very quickly.

Ron suddenly brightened. Maybe his suffering would be short-lived, after all! "Did you find one?" he asked eagerly.

"No." 

Ron cursed under his breath and sat down at the table. "Why not?"

"Because there isn't one. There's only one that reduces the feeling, which means you won't throw up as much."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you make it for me?"

She stared at him like she had never seen anything quite like him before. "Do I look like I have the time to do that? Here's the recipe; make it yourself. I have to go to work. Toodleloo," Hermione breathed as she threw a piece of parchment at him, walked over to the sink, dumped her plate in, kissed Ron goodbye, and walked out the door. Ron sat, stunned, until the door closed. Only then did he recover enough to call,

"THAT'S A NICE WAY TO TREAT YOUR UNBORN CHILD, YOU EVIL—"

Hermione apparently had not gone far, for the door opened, cutting him off, and she voiced her retort of, "Shove it, Ron." 

Ron was livid as the door slammed closed behind her. He would show her; he would make the potion _and_ get to work on time. Then she would see who the fittest of the spouses really was. Yes indeed; she would see.

Unfortunately, that was not the day that this would happen. He ended up being late for work, and he messed up the potion (he suspected he had let it stew for too short of a time), causing his hair to turn a nice and irreversible shade of purple. 

Around 4:45 that afternoon, Ron opened the door to greet his last patient of the day. "Hello, Ms. Lottie," he said, looking over her file and closing the door behind her.

"You have purple hair," the snotty looking 11-year-old responded, giving him a disgusted look.

Ron's eyes narrowed into a glare. He'd gotten a lot of that over the course of the day. "Yes, I do. Dr. Ron had a little accident at home."

"Really. Did Dr. Ron _accidentally_ fall into a tub of purple paint?"

"Little fireplug there, aren't you," Ron said, laughing forcedly and "accidentally" whispering a freezing charm on the magical stethoscope before using it. She started, and glared back at him. 

"Can you _please_ warm that up? It's a little cold."

"Fine, fine." Ron was satisfied anyway; where would get by taking his frustrations out on a little girl?

"My mummy says that you're incompetent, and that we're switching doctors after this visit."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ron grunted through gritted teeth as he looked down her throat.

"Bleughbleughbleughbleughbleugh," she spat through the tongue-depressing spell.

"What was that?" Ron asked as he released the spell and began to jot down some notes.

"You look like you're going to vomit. Are you going to vomit?"

Ron greened at the very mention of the word "vomit."

"Dr. Ron? You're going to vomit, aren't you," Lottie continued, grinning now.

Ron swallowed, and went on writing notes.

"Well? Where's the vomit? I could swear you were going to—"

Ron, unable to hold it in any longer, turned off to the side and puked into the garbage can.

"EEEWWWW! MUUUMMMM!" Lottie screamed as she hopped off the examination table and hightailed it toward the waiting room. Ron, sweating, leaned back in his chair. It had not been a good day.

***

"Do we HAVE to do this?" Ron asked as he and Hermione ambled up the path to The Burrow.

"Ron, she's your mum; of course we have to do this!"

"So? She doesn't have to know until it's over…"

"It's her first grandchild. She'll never forgive you—_or_ me—if we don't let her fawn over the both of us while we're pregnant."

"Since when did being pregnant become a job for two people? _I'm _the one carrying Liam, and—"

"_Liam?!_"

"Yes, Liam."

"Who, may I ask, is Liam?"

"It's the baby's name. It's derogatory for us to keep referring to Liam as 'the baby;' we'll hurt his feelings."

"Number one, we are NOT naming the baby 'Liam,' and number two, it's going to be a girl, and we're naming her Aine."

"What the hell is 'Aine?' Just because you have a weird and unpronounceable name doesn't mean that Liam is going to have one too! And the baby is going to be a boy!"

"Fine. If the baby's a boy, we're naming him Gregory."

"Who says?"

"I do."

"Well you're wrong, and you're just trying to change the subject from my mum!"

"No, I'm not, I just don't want my baby—"

"_Our_ baby."

"—_our_ baby walking around with a horrid name like Liam."

"LIAM IS NOT A HORRIBLE NAME! LIAM IS A GOOD NAME! I LIKE LIAM!"

"Anyway, your mum will understand."

"What will she understand, that my wife practices every form of torture short of stringing me up and repeatedly performing the forbidden curses on me?"

"Ron."

"'Hi Mum, guess what? We're having a baby! Wait, there's more! Your daughter-in-law decided that I was being a prat, so she transferred the pregnancy to me! That's right, let the tears of joy well up in your eyes now; your son has become half-girl!'"

"That's not what's going to happen. Your mum will understand, and she'll be too happy about the grandchild idea to think of anything else. She, er, probably won't even notice."

"I think certain things just might catch her attention, Hermione."

"Wait, you mean she's going to think it's odd?" Hermione deadpanned, glaring. "Besides, this is nothing. Wait until we explain this to my parents."

After a few steps, Hermione noticed that Ron wasn't with her anymore.

"Ron?"

"I'm apparating home. You explain, meet me back there."

"No. You're coming with me."

"Uh uh."

"Yes."

"No."

"Come on!"

Before Ron knew it he was being dragged toward the doorway of his home. Then the door was opened, and he was inside, and his mother was giving out hugs. 

"I'm so glad to see you two! What a nice surprise!" Mrs. Weasley cried as she released her son. "Come in, come in; Arthur! Put some tea on, Ron and Hermione are here!"

"Ron and Hermione?" Mr. Weasley called, poking his head through the kitchen doorway. He grinned. "Ron! Great to see you! I'll have tea ready in a minute!"

Ron was beginning to feel sick. 

"Sit down, sit down," Mrs. Weasley said, shooing them toward chairs by the fire. "How are the both of you? How are your jobs? How's the new flat? I haven't seen you both since the wedding! You think you could visit me, with you only living in London after all."

"We're good, Mum, and we're sorry we haven't visited," Ron said, turning his traditional shade of crimson. Being the mother of seven grown children, Mrs. Weasley was well acquainted with the attitudes people took on when they were trying to keep something from her, and she immediately became suspicious.

"Something tells me you two didn't just stop by for a visit," she replied, smirking at Ron and Hermione in turn.

"You're right, Mrs. Weasley—"

"For goodness sakes, Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley all but yelled. "At least call me Molly; you're not some stranger we dragged in from the street."

"Sorry, Mrs…I mean, Molly," Hermione responded shyly.

"That's better. Now, out with it."

Hermione gave Ron a pointed look and nudged him. The look he gave in return had the potential to kill a more faint-hearted person than his wife, but Hermione returned it with one of equal value. This went on for several seconds until Ron (for once) won, and Hermione turned back toward Mrs. Weasley with a smile.

"We're pregnant."

She had barely uttered the words when Mrs. Weasley squealed so loudly that Mr. Weasley rushed in from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" he asked, surprised and confused.

"ARTHUR, I'M GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!"

"What?" he questioned, receiving his wife into a hug with open arms and giving Ron and Hermione an intrigued look. He soon put the pieces together, and happiness proceeded to flood his features.

"You're having a baby?" he asked happily. "Congratulations!" He released his wife and they both moved toward Hermione. A disgruntled Ron sat, on the other end of the couch, forgotten.

"How far along are you, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you going to have it at a Muggle hospital?" Mr. Weasley questioned. "How do they manage that, then?"

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, effectively quieting her husband. She then turned back toward Hermione. "Well?" 

"Well…er…there's something else we have to tell you," she started sheepishly, looking at Ron, who had suddenly become very interested in the pattern of the couch fabric.The elder Weasleys looked at her expectantly. Hermione sighed; she decided she owed Ron this much, at least. "How should I say this?" she asked, looking at the ceiling and sighing heavily. She looked back at her in-laws. "Are either of you familiar with the spell Addo Graviditas?"

Molly and Arthur looked at one another, seeing if the other one had the slightest idea what she was getting at. For a second, it looked like both of them were clueless, but just when Hermione was about to explain what it did, Mr. Weasley's eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. He looked from Ron to Hermione several times in succession, and started to shake.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked, surprised and appalled.

He answered by going into a fit of explosive laughter. Ron looked positively murderous. When he finally calmed down, he turned to his son and said,

"Ron, old boy, whatever you did…well, I'm sorry…" and that was all he could take before doubling over in laughter again. He excused himself to the other room to finish making the tea, and began to laugh again.

Mrs. Weasley looked positively perplexed. "What on earth is your father going on about?" she asked her son. Ron couldn't take it anymore and slumped down in his seat, wishing that he could make himself invisible. "Hermione?" 

Hermione began to describe to Mrs. Weasley the history of the Addo Graviditas spell, and what exactly it was used for. When she was finished with her explanation, Mrs. Weasley's mouth had gone very taught, and she was fighting back what looked like tears of laughter; however, she had more self control than her husband did, and managed to contain herself, for the most part. 

"Well, Ronald, what on earth did you do this time?"

Ron finally snapped for the fifth time that day (he had not been having the best of days/weeks), and leapt from the couch to his feet. "I didn't do anything! I'm married to a madwoman! The girl is insane; can't you see that? She did it for her own sick pleasure!"

"Now now, that's very harsh. Tell me what happened."

"She expects me to _magically_ know what's going on with her _every single moment of her life_!" Ron had become very passionate, and was making several dramatic gestures with his hands. "She asked me what I thought about kids; how was I supposed to know what she was getting at?"

Mrs. Weasley stood up and tried to calm him down. "It's alright, everything's going to be alright. You need a cup of tea. Arthur? Where is that tea?" she yelled, breaking her air of calmness. Ron didn't notice; he was too busy hyperventilating. As she sat Ron back on the couch, she turned back toward Hermione. "How long has it been?" she asked her.

"Since I got pregnant or since Ron's been pregnant?"

"Both."

"For me, about a month. For Ron, about a week."

Mrs. Weasley raised her eyebrows.

"He's had really bad morning sickness, and a lot of trouble getting used to the idea."

"THE IDEA?" Ron yelled. Hermione cringed; Ron had again leapt to his feet, and was ignoring Mrs. Weasley's efforts to soothe his temper. "AND WHAT A FINE IDEA IT WAS, EH?"

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley called, walking back in the room (complete with tea). "Come on, we need to go for a walk and calm you down." Not knowing what else to do, Ron obliged, and allowed himself to be drawn out the door and into the backyard. As soon as the door shut behind them, he turned on his father.

"Do you know what—"

"Ron! Stop!" Mr. Weasley snapped at his son. Surprised, Ron obeyed. 

"Believe me, yes, I know what's happening. I think it's time we had a little talk."

"About what?" Ron grumbled in reply.

"Women, and how to avoid arguments."

"I know exactly how to avoid arguments!" Ron answered, turning toward his father and then uttering a word he had not been allowed to say in the house until he was 18, and would certainly never be allowed to say in front of his mother. He proceeded to kick a garden gnome clear over the fence (the poor gnome never saw it coming).

Mr. Weasley frowned. "Not exactly. You have a few fundamental things to learn."

"Such as?" 

"Such as, when a woman asks you…certain questions, they're really trying to build up to a big announcement or the like. It's best to either not give a straight answer or ask why the question is being asked."

"How wise," Ron retorted, falsely starting at some more idle gnomes and causing them to scatter, squealing.

"I'm serious. For instance, if Hermione someday asks you, 'Ron, how do you like my mother,' what would you say?"

"I'd say, 'I like her alright, but I wouldn't want to live with her.'"

"Precisely wrong."

"Why is it wrong? It's just honest."

"Yes, but what if the question she were trying ask you was, 'My mother is ill and can't care for herself anymore, and can she live here for a little while before we find somewhere nearby where she can have full time care?'"

"Oh."

"See what I mean?"

"So, a question like, 'How do you feel about children?' should have an answer of, 'Why do you ask?'"

"Good, you're getting the hang of it." The elder Weasley patted his son on the back as they continued their turn around the garden. 

"Anything else?" Ron asked.

"If you want to avoid lots of household fights and nights on the couch, 'yes' is the operative word. They have more stamina than we do, and can easily wear us down."

"But what if I'm right and she's wrong?"

Mr. Weasley looked at his son. _So young, so innocent,_ he thought, and then he turned his gaze on the house, which they were fast approaching. "Well, suit yourself," he said. "I hope that you've learned something."

"Yes, I have, but I'm still _pregnant_, dad."

Unfortunately, his father had nothing to say for that, and they went back into the house with Ron still fit to kill. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were in the middle of having what seemed to be a lovely conversation over their tea.

"Oh, Aine, what a lovely name! It's so old and quaint sounding. And Gregory for a boy is the perfect choice."

Ron glared at Hermione. Hermione gave him a coy smile. Mr. Weasley resignedly sat in a chair as he watched the younger married couple; his son would be leading a long, hard life. At least it would be amusing to watch.

A personal "thank you" email to everyone who reviews and leaves an address, along with a guaranteed review of one of your fics if you're an author. Desperate for feedback? Who, me?


	2. In which Ron is Tortured Further by way ...

A/N: Well, here's part II…part III will be a bit delayed, because I am adding some things in

A/N: Well, here's part II…part III will be a bit delayed, because I am adding some things in. Thanks to Zsenya for beta reading. Also, thanks for the great response on part I to everyone who reviewed :) You all made my week, and I really appreciate it…

I disclaim everything. A big yippee to everyone who gets my oh-so-subtle (cough) Jane Austen references. 

****

Part II

"What are you looking at?" Ron asked menacingly as an older woman sitting adjacent to him on the bus gazed upon him with interest. The woman looked away, but Ron caught her sneaking glances while his head was turned in the opposite direction.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say he was pregnant!" Ron heard her exclaim to her companion.

"You're right, Fanny! My, what a gut!"

"I think it even beats Edmund's!"

Ron recited the sentence that Hermione had told him to recite whenever he was angry ("I am perfectly calm, and will remain so until I can be in a private place") and did not look in the old woman's direction. It had definitely not been a good end-of-the-day.

***

"Ready for the game?" Ron asked as he grabbed his brilliant orange cloak and checked to make sure that the tickets were in order one more time.

Hermione rolled over in bed so that she was facing the dark wall and not the bright hallway light. "Ron, we're not leaving yet. The gates to the stadium don't open until 10:00."

"But it's general admission!" We have to be near the front of the line so we get good seats!"

"I highly doubt there will be a large crowd when we get there…"

"Which is exactly why I want to leave now!"

"No matter what time we leave, considering the team," she muttered into the pillow.

"What was that?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Nothing…Do you _know_ what time it is?" Hermione asked groggily, opening her eyes and lifting her head.

"Yes, it's 6:00am. Why?"

Hermione groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

"Oh no you don't! You promised me a Quidditch game whenever the Cannons play, and you are going to keep that promise!"

"Fine. Go. I want to sleep."

Ron looked hurt. "But I want you to go…"

"Why?"

Ron thought quickly. "Because it's cold in the stands, and without you there's no one to keep warm with."

Hermione smiled under the blankets in spite of herself.

"Your orange cloak doesn't keep you warm enough?"

Ron tickled her through the blankets; she shrieked.

"I'm up! I'm up!"

"Alright then!" Ron grinned, flinging the blankets off of her and moving toward the kitchen.

Hermione watched Ron through the doorway as he sang a popular song ("Your Love is Like the Cruciatus Curse") and poured liberal amounts of cinnamon and sugar onto buttered bread. _Amazing how yesterday he mentioned that 6:00am is a time when only crazy people are awake, let alone active…_ she felt herself drifting off again when she heard the kettle begin to whistle from the other room.

"Hot cocoa's ready, love," he called pleasantly as he bustled around the kitchen (in a manner, similar to that of Mrs. Weasley, Hermione noticed) cleaning up and doing other odds and ends. At the promise of cinnamon toast and hot chocolate, she finally managed to pull herself out of bed. With the Quidditch match and what was to follow, she was sure it would be a long day.

***

Ron jumped up from his seat.

"MARLEY'S GOING FOR IT!" he hollered; Hermione preferred to remain silent and seated, thank you very much.

"YES!!!!" Ron yelled, pulling Hermione up out of her seat for a kiss. "WE WON! WE ACTUALLY WON!" Ron began to do a peculiar sort of victory dance while Hermione watched and tried not to laugh; Ron noticed, but didn't seem to care very much. "Voluntary public humiliation in the name of Quidditch! I love it!" he cried gleefully, hugging Hermione with a passion he only reserved for the aftermath of life threatening situations and winning Quidditch matches.

"Let's go to lunch," Hermione sighed, laughing a little and wondering if he would mind if she pretended she didn't know him. Ron relived the final play several times after they had Apparated behind the Leaky Cauldron and ordered lunch.

"…And did you see the way she kind of flipped over on her broomstick, with _no hands_? Then how she regained control and didn't fall off of her broom, and took that amazing victory lap? And how she got really, really close to where we were sitting?

"Yes, Ron."

"I don't care what people say; the Cannons are in for a good season this year! We've already won a match!"

"Uh huh."

"Who cares if it's the first match we've won in 25 years? It's still a win!"

"I know."

"And that Marley is amazing! She's the best Seeker I've ever seen with the team!"

"You fancy her, eh?" Hermione teased, pushing her food around with her fork.

"No," Ron answered immediately, reddening a little, and taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

"I see how it is," Hermione replied, nodding knowingly. "It's the hair, isn't it?" She took flitted some of her hair out from behind her ear and grinned. "You can never be fully satisfied by being with a woman with this kind of hair; you like it straight and blonde, is that it?"

Ron shook his head vigorously. "I like your hair," he insisted, leaning over to run his hand through the bit of hair she had brought to the forefront and push it back behind her ear.

"You're just saying that to cover up your affection for this Quidditch woman."

"No," he said earnestly. "Every, er, fiber in my body is in love with you!"

"Stop lying to me!" Hermione laughed, turning away in mock pain.

"Stop toying with me then!" Ron laughed back, tugging on her hand.

"Ah, so you admit that you were lying?" she teased.

"I don't lie to you," he answered, a little too earnestly.

"Mmm hmm. And to think I could have found a nice, smart boy who actually respected a woman's feelings…"

"You are horrible, do you know that?"

Hermione laughed, and Ron suddenly began to sing (very off key); "You torture many/but you torture me the worst/your love is like/the Cruciatus Curse…"

"Oh shut up," Hermione replied, laughing even harder as Ron began to dance in his chair. "Stop!" she cried, unable to hold anything back anymore and literally doubling over. 

When Ron looked up, he noticed that several customers were looking at the couple curiously, as they had been making an awful amount of noise.

"Possessed," Ron said grimly to the onlookers, motioning toward Hermione. "Very sad, really…"

"Shut up, you git!" Hermione managed to choke out through her laughter.

"See? Possessed—" 

Hermione collected herself enough to grab Ron's vibrant orange cloak and toss it over his head. "For the last time, shut up," she said, trying desperately to contain herself.

"Gah, she's getting violent!" Ron called in a muffled voice, causing Hermione to smack him upside the head; she proceeded to drag him to the front of the pub.

"How much was it?" she asked, breathless from laughter.

Tom answered her with a lopsided smile. Hermione paid, and dragged Ron into the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron.

"Good show," Ron commented, pulling his head and arms through the cloak so that it was properly on.

"Do you ever stop being an idiot?" Hermione grinned, counting the appropriate number of bricks and tapping the correct one with her wand.

"You've known me for about nine years now; don't you know yet?"

"Yes. The answer is no."

"Well, stop bugging me about it then," he finished, pulling her into his arms as they walked. Suddenly, his manner changed to one that was semi-anxious. "Do we _have_ to do this?"

"Ron, it's not going to just go away. Soon, you'll be very glad we got it over with now."

Ron, nervously surveying the myriad of witches and wizards crowding Diagon Alley, replied, "I highly doubt it."

"Oh don't be such a baby about it, it's not like it's going to hurt. We're not going to the doctor's again, you know."

"Speak for yourse—" Ron suddenly cut himself off, grabbed an unsuspecting Hermione, and pulled her into the closest shop.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione hissed after he let go of her. "Why are we in here?"

"Seamus Finnigan's out there!"

"So?"

"So I don't want to tell him why we're here!"

"Ron, we don't have to tell him anything; he'll never know."

"That's what you said about Fred and George!"

"Be reasonable about this—"

"Phew, I think we've lost him." Ron was ignoring her and looking out the window. "Come on, let's—" 

Ron was cut off as the door opened, and their favorite sandy-haired Irishman entered the shop in which they were seeking refuge.

"Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?" Seamus asked, grinning and extending his hand. Ron cursed under his breath; his clever plan had failed.

"Seamus Finnigan! It's been awhile…how did you ever see us in this huge crowd?"

"The hair, mate, it's the hair," he replied. "Can't miss that hair anywhere. Lucky you have it, eh?"

"Yeah, lucky," Ron muttered as Seamus began asking Hermione how she was.

"We're good, both of our jobs are going well, and we just moved to London after the wedding; it's great."

"Good to hear it," Seamus smiled. 

"How about you? How's the writing coming?"

"Couldn't be better! I just got promoted at the _Prophet_, and I get a byline and everything starting next week. I get to cover the next Quidditch World Cup! For now, though, I get lots of the British League games, which is enough, of course."

Seamus moved out of the doorway to let other customers in past him, and absently picked up something from a table nearby. Ron felt a dramatic sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized what it was, and what store he had pulled Hermione into.

"So, who're the lucky parents?" Seamus asked, looking over the miniature set of robes he had in his hands. Ron had led the three of them into "Toy Brooms, etc.," the premier specialty baby and toddler store on Diagon Alley, and the second-to-last store he wanted Seamus to spot him in. Ron blushed a violent scarlet, and even Hermione's cheeks ran a little pink.

"Wait, you're kidding, it's you? Congratulations!" Seamus exclaimed, slapping Ron on the back and hugging Hermione. "When's the kid coming?"

"In a little over 5 months," Ron interjected before he could stop himself.

"Great, I'll have to come and visit after you have the baby," he answered, grinning even more. Ron just wanted him to go away; he knew if he didn't, he would start interrogating Hermione, and looking for the nonexistent bulge on her stomach, and then certain questions would arise that Ron would not want her to answer…he still had nightmares about what had happened with Fred and George.

"Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I have to go and buy something for my nephew at Gambol & Japes…I'm thinking Filibuster Fireworks; after all he does start Hogwarts next year. Can't be too prepared, eh?" he said, nudging Ron; Ron smiled and nervously agreed. "What are you two up to, besides the obvious?" he motioned around the shop.

"Oh, we're going to get some pregnancy robes…won't be long before it starts to show," Hermione answered.

Ron controlled his cringing for the sake of his concealment

"Well, maybe later we could go get dinner together, on me, as a late congratulations…Lavender could come too, she was just mentioning that she hadn't seen you in awhile."

"That would be lovely," Hermione replied, ignoring Ron's look of fear, and smiled happily. "Where can we go?"

"How about Nuit Enchante? It's a block from my house. You could floo over, and then we could walk down. I promise to clean the fireplace."

"Are you sure? We wouldn't want to be putting you out…"

"Not at all! It's my pleasure."

"Alright then, how does 8:00 sound?"

"Great!" Seamus looked at his watch, and a look of pained remembrance crossed his face. "I better be going, I told Lav I'd meet her at 3:00, and it's 3:02. I'll see you tonight!" Seamus nodded at Hermione and slapped Ron on the back again, and walked off. Ron let out a big sigh of relief. 

"Oh stop it," Hermione muttered, and took Ron outside and back into the street, where they were headed for the store that Ron really did not want to enter. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about; pregnancy is a very natural thing."

"For a woman."

"What do you plan on doing when you start to show?"

"Staying inside."

Hermione sighed. "We're here. I don't want any complaining, now let's go."

Literally wincing, Ron walked into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and followed Hermione to the counter. A few seconds later, Madam Malkin herself emerged from behind a curtain, and Ron thanked the heavens that there was no one in the shop but themselves.

"Hello dears, what can I do for you?" she asked airily, surveying the couple in front of her. "Something formal, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, we're here to purchase some pregnancy robes," Hermione answered cheerfully.

"Congratulations, darling!" Madam Malkin patted Hermione on the shoulder. "Just step up here and I'll be right back with my—"

"Oh, no, it's not me…it's my husband."

Madam Malkin looked at Ron suspiciously. "What?"

"Well…" Hermione's eyebrows furrowed and she looked as if she were trying very hard to properly place her words. Ron was glad that she always seemed so uncomfortable when explaining "things;" he felt that she deserved at least some of the discomfort that came with the pregnancy, considering that it was supposed to be hers to begin with. She wasn't the one with the expanding waistline, not to mention the fact that for some reason his shoes didn't seem to fit correctly anymore. He had been getting blisters for that entire week, and it had not been pleasant. Hermione had given him the "it's natural" speech that he had come to dread, and then taken him to buy new shoes; however, Ron had had fairly large feet to begin with, and the store had to put shoes on special order for him. The only pair of shoes his size that they had in stock were a pair of heinous mauve Velcro sneakers, which he adamantly refused to wear in both public and private. Needless to say, he had spent the previous week sitting by the phone, waiting for the shoe store to call (they had finally called, to his relief, called the day before).

"We used _Addo Graviditas_," Hermione attempted to explain, "the spell that transfers a pregnancy from one person to another, regardless of gender?"

Madam Malkin looked like she was trying to recall the spell; her eyes soon lit up and Ron decided that she had apparently succeeded.

"Ah yes…_Addo Graviditas_." She smiled knowingly. "Well young man, stand up over there and I will be out in a minute with my things."

Ron obliged, ignoring that she had addressed him as "young man" because he was praying that no one would walk in.

"Oh, wipe that ridiculous look off of your face," Hermione commented, sitting in a chair and crossing her arms. "It wasn't that bad. She didn't even quiz me on why we used the spell."

"Why are you the one who keeps saying," Ron put on a falsetto voice, "'Calm down, Ron, it's not that bad. It's not that embarrassing. It's not like it's going to _hurt_.'"

"Because it's true, and you don't have the sense to see that."

"Hermione, tell me something," Ron asked.

"Yes?"

"Promise me you'll answer correctly?"

"Promise."

"Alright. Are you me right now?"

"Well—"

"Then you have no idea what 'embarrassing' is, so stop lecturing me!"

Madam Malkin chose that moment to emerge with measuring tape, pins, and a generic pair of oversized robes, cutting off Hermione's chance to retaliate.

"Now, let's see what you've got here…" she muttered as she put the robes on Ron and began to measure and pin. She called to Hermione, "How many robes will we be needing?"

Ron was vaguely annoyed at the fact that his only part in this whole affair seemed to be playing the part of dress up doll.

"Four; two for everyday, one dark blue and one black, and two doctor's robes."

"There's a special in pregnancy robes; buy four and get a fifth pair free. Shall I throw in a pair of dress robes?"

"Why yes, thank you."

She finished measuring Ron, and Madam Malkin began to move toward the curtains again.

"I'll start making the robes, and I'll bring out a catalog so that you can pick what you would like for dress robes." 

After she made her exit to the back rooms once again, Ron heard the tinkle of bells ringing and, for the second time that day, felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; someone had entered the shop.

"Mummy, do I _have_ to get new robes?"

"Yes Charles, your old ones are all getting ripped."

"But I want ice cream!"

"After this, I'll think about it."

"But mummy—"

"Oh look! It's Dr. Ron!"

Ron cringed; it was the Bingleys; the son was one of his patients.

"Dr. Ron!" Charles called excitedly, momentarily forgetting his yearning for ice cream. Ron waved with a forced smile on his face.

"Hello," Mrs. Bingley, the 40-year-old mother, said happily. "What brings you to this part of the neighborhood?"

Ron was about to open his mouth to say "New dress robes" when Madam Malkin reappeared and said, "Here is the catalogue; I've starred the ones that I can modify into pregnancy robes. As you can infer, I don't usually get many requests for male pregnancy robes, so there are no specific ones…"

Mrs. Bingley now had a very confused look on her face as she stared at the couple. Ron gave a wan smile, and, because of his embarrassment, didn't hear either Madam Malkin finish explaining or Hermione telling her something before she disappeared into the back room yet again. He then turned his attention toward the catalogue. 

"'Ey," Ron protested as Hermione hid the magazine from his view and began to page through it. She shushed him, and, seeming to have found what she was looking for, placed it in front of him.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think that this one will flatter you the most."

Perplexed, Ron took a closer look; she had moved to the "Golden Oldies" page, and directly in the center there was a model wearing some very ugly and very familiar maroon robes, complete with lace on the collar and cuffs. Ron looked up to see Hermione's eyes sparkling a little at him.

"They're perfect, I think we should get them," Ron said seriously.

"Really?"

"Really." 

Ron and Hermione both started sniggering at the same time, ignoring the near constant staring from Mrs. Bingley.

Just then, Madam Malkin appeared again with a neat package. "Here they are. They should all stretch as your stomach grows, just pull on them a bit after you put them on and they'll fit perfectly."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, grinning and handing the package to Ron.

"Hey, what about dress robes?" he asked as Hermione began digging around in her purse for money.

"Didn't we decide on that lovely maroon number?"

"That's not funny."

Hermione handed a handful of coins to Madam Malkin. "I picked them out for you; they'll be a surprise. You can wear them tonight."

They began to walk out of the store.

"Bye Charles, Mrs. Bingley," Ron called, grinning and nodding at them.

"Goodbye," Mrs. Bingley waved, still looking slightly confused.

"By Dr. Ron! Someday I'm going to be pregnant just like you!" Charles called excitedly, jumping up and down. Mrs. Bingley grabbed the 3-year-old and started to lecture him on something that Ron could only begin to imagine the contents of.

"There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Hermione asked once they were back in the street.

"I've been through worse."

"See?"

"Facing Voldemort's the only thing that comes to mind right now, but who keeps track of little things like that?" Hermione sighed and continued to look ahead of her as they passed Florean Fortescue's. "Can I get ice cream?" he asked, turning toward her with an expectant look on his face.

"Ron, we're meeting Seamus and Lavender for dinner in a few hours, you shouldn't fill up—"

"Let me rephrase that," Ron interrupted. "I am pregnant, and I want ice cream."

Hermione sighed and, feeling very much like a mother already, followed her husband as he led the way to the ice cream counter.

"Hi, what can I get you?" the girl at the counter asked.

"A small heavenly hash please," Hermione said quickly. Ron, who was studying the list of flavors, put on the falsetto voice again and mocked, 

"'My name's Hermione, I like to contradict myself—'"

"Shut up and order, Ron, you're holding up the line."

"You may be smarter than me, and you may be more perceptive than me, but I know for a fact that there is no line."

"Well, at least you admit the obvious."

"Always," Ron answered, finally making his selection.

"Large pickle, please."

"Pickle?" the girl asked, handing Hermione her order.

"Yes," Ron said authoritatively.

Hermione gave him an odd look as the girl started scooping his ice cream.

"Craving," he replied nonchalantly, and dug into his pocket for some knuts.

"I'm surprised; usually, that flavor is only bought by pregnant women," the girl said to Ron as she handed him his cone.

"Well," he answered, giving her the money, "I just happen to be a pregnant woman."

The girl looked a bit frightened for a second and then laughed weakly.

"Have a good day," Ron said, saluting, and walking away toward the exit with Hermione close behind him. Once they were back on the street, Hermione turned to him and said,

"You've finally come to terms with it?"

Ron looked straight ahead and answered, "Yes, I'm pregnant and I'm not ashamed to admit it! I'm sick of you getting all the credit for something that I'm doing all the work for."

Hermione suppressed a laugh. "Good to know, then."

Ron nodded, and they turned to walk back through the arch toward the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron.

"So, we're telling Seamus and Lavender the truth tonight?" They stepped back into the alley, and when they looked behind them the arch had disappeared.

"Nope."

Hermione sighed, and they walked back into the pub, waved to Tom, and exited into the Muggle world on the other side.

***

Ron looked in the mirror in an effort to do something with his hair, which did not seem to be cooperating with him at the moment. Hermione had not picked out the maroon robes as she had teased (_Thank Goodness,_ Ron had thought as he opened the package); instead, she had picked out a pair of handsome, straight-necked gray robes, and they fit him perfectly (not to mention the fact that they minimized the small bulge that had formed on his middle and brought out his hair and eyes). "Yes, I look good," Ron said to himself, nodding to the music emanating from the radio as he tried to make his hair obey him.

"_Oboediens,_" Hermione called from the doorway, pointing her wand at him. Ron looked in the mirror and saw that his hair was doing everything he was telling it to do.

"Thanks 'Mione," he called, nodding at her reflection in the mirror.

"No problem. And yes, you're right for once; you do look good…" She walked over to him and did his hair herself. "There," she said when she had finished, "now you look perfect."

"Haha," Ron grimaced, looking in the mirror to see that she had, in fact, fixed his hair properly.

"You know, you should give other people a turn to be right once in awhile…for instance, me. I have low self-esteem, you know."

"Poor thing. Now, get out of the bathroom so I can get ready." Hermione walked in and hung her dress robes on the top of the closet door.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, turning back toward the mirror to fix his hair just a bit more in order to spite her. "Not like there's anything I haven't seen before—"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione interrupted, pushing him out the door and slamming it in his face.

"Well, it's true!" Ron called through the closed door, and shuffled over to the living room where he sat on the couch to wait for his wife to emerge.

He did not have to wait for very long; she emerged five minutes later, clad in tastefully scoop-necked, form-fitting deep red robes. The sides of her bushy hair were kept back with a jeweled clip, so that it wouldn't fall in her face.

"Wow," Ron commented, smiling. "You look great."

"Er, thank you," Hermione replied, blushing. Ron knew how uncomfortable she got each time he commented on her looks, but he always did it anyway (only because he meant it). "Let's go. Do you have the Floo Powder?"

"Right here," Ron said, reaching into a pottery jar by the fireplace. He magically lit the fire, threw in a pinch of powder, walked into the flames, and shouted "Seamus Finnigan's!" Soon, he was spinning off toward his destination.

He dropped in Seamus's stone fireplace fairly gently and on his feet (years of practice had rendered him a Floo Powder expert), and noted with relief that all ashes had been swept away as promised.

"Hello?" he called into the room. "We're here!" Hermione appeared a second later and voiced what Ron had silently contemplated before she had arrived.

"Lucky he swept the fireplace."

"Yeah," Ron answered as Seamus entered the living room clad in slate blue.

"Hi! You guys are right on time," he greeted, walking over and shaking Ron and Hermione's hands in turn.

"Good to see you again, it's been so long," Ron answered, beginning to relax a little. He wouldn't find out about the pregnancy unless they told him, and Ron's dignity would remain intact. _Think positively_, he thought, grinning as Hermione also made a crack about the great length of time between seeing him in the afternoon and the present.

"It's true though, in a way," Seamus replied. "We didn't really get a chance to catch up earlier."

"You're right, it really has been awhile," said Hermione. "Where's Lavender?"

"Remember when I said that you were right on time?"

"Oh," Hermione laughed, "how could I forget. 'Lavender' and 'late' are probably listed as synonyms in the dictionary by now…"

Just then, a door opened and a voice called, "I'm here, Seamus! Sorry I'm running a little late, but my cat—Hermione!" she exclaimed, running over to give her old roommate a hug. "You look great!"

"So do you! It's good to see you!" Hermione replied, complimenting Lavender's purple robes. 

"Seamus didn't tell me you were going to come; I would have actually tried to be on time…and Ron!" She gave him a hug as well. "Wow! I haven't seen you two since the wedding…which we all knew was coming anyway. It was obvious since fourth year." She smiled knowingly; Hermione shook her head and smiled as well.

"It gets better, Lav," Seamus said. "They're pregnant."

"One of us is anyway," Ron muttered so that no one could hear him under Lavender's congratulatory squeal.

"When's the due date?"

"About five months from now," Hermione sheepishly replied.

"I'm so happy for you," lavender commented, giving Hermione another hug. "And you!" she continued, turning to Ron. "I never imagined _you_ being a daddy."

"I'm just full of surprises," Ron answered, smiling as convincingly as he could.

"'Ey," Seamus suddenly interrupted, "Reservations are at 8:30, so we'd better start out."

"Alright then," Ron answered, putting his cloak on, grateful that the pregnancy banter would be put on hold. 

It was quite lovely outside; a light snow had begun to fall, and dainty flakes could be seen floating in the soft light of the street lamps as they passed. At the end of the road was Nuit Enchante, a beautiful old castle that had been turned into a restaurant. Light was emanating from windows of all floors, and Ron thought for a brief moment that it looked like a picture from a storybook.

"May I take your cloaks?" the witch at the door asked as she showed them into the foyer. 

"Yes please," Ron answered, being a gentleman and helping Hermione out of hers before taking his own off. None of them talked for a moment; there was a dramatic change in atmosphere between the outside and inside, and they were yet completely comfortable.

"This way," said a waiter, leading them to a table on the second floor. Ron edged his way over to Seamus as they were walking.

"You sure dinner's on you? I wouldn't mind paying for me and Hermione."

"Very sure," Seamus grinned. "It's part of my promotion at the _Prophet_; they said I'd get a free dinner for up to four people anywhere in the country."

"Wow," Ron replied, "Must be nice."

"It's very nice, but don't tell Lavender."

Ron smirked at this; by this time they had arrived at their table, and everyone began to sit down. The conversation started again, but it was centered around Lavender's job as at a catering company instead of unborn children.

The waiter soon reappeared near their table. "May I start you off with something to drink?" he asked after waiting for a lull in conversation, so as not to interrupt.

Ron waited for Seamus and Lavender to order, then took his turn. "Pumpkin juice, please," he said politely. Hermione proceeded to order her favorite wine. When the waiter left and they looked back at their companions, they found that both Lavender and Seamus were giving them odd looks.

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

"Aren't you pregnant?" Seamus asked. This made Ron's ears flush with immediate embarrassment until he realized that Seamus was addressing Hermione. "You shouldn't be drinking alcohol."

"Oh!" Hermione replied, realizing her error and thinking quickly. "Er, right…there's a charm that…filters alcohol a different way, so, er, it's safe for me to drink."

"Oh, alright," Seamus responded, apparently satisfied. "So, speaking of unborn children, do you know if it's going to be a girl or a boy?"

"Boy," said Ron immediately, at the same time as Hermione said "Girl." A small and slightly tense silence followed.

"Well, we don't know, as we'd rather be surprised; but, we each have our own preference," Hermione said, glaring slightly at Ron.

"Some of which are better than others," Ron answered, fiddling with his napkin.

"Hmm, maybe I won't ask about names then," Lavender commented to Seamus.

"Yeah, that's not a good idea," Hermione laughed. Ron coughed, but if one listened to the cough closely one could distinctly hear the word "Liam" being sounded out.

Much to Ron's surprise, the evening progressed fairly smoothly from that point; after the initial conversation about little Liam, it gave way to talk of other things, and, of course, reminiscing.

"Do you remember that Potions class in 6th year when Hermione actually made a mistake, and her cauldron exploded, covering the entire dungeon - and, most importantly, Snape - with green goo?" Lavender asked gleefully. Her inquiry caused everyone to laugh at the memory, except for Hermione, who hid her face in her hands.

"Do you all have to remember the _one_ time I didn't brew a potion correctly?"

"Yes," Ron answered laughingly, cutting himself another piece of cake. "And I don't see why you're upset about it; wasn't Snape about 700,000 times nicer to you after it happened?"

"Yes, probably because I suddenly became fallible," Hermione answered, smiling and putting a forkful of cake into her mouth.

"You will never know just how great it actually was, because you didn't get the full effect of the looks on both Snape's face _and_ your face. I wish someone got a picture of it, I would have treasured it forever," Seamus teased.

"You and every other imbecile in that school," Hermione teased back. "Speaking of amusing things that happened in Potions, how about the time when you…"

Ron suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide; he did not hear the rest of what Hermione had to say. Suddenly, that was the least of his problems.

"Ron?" Lavender asked thoughtfully, observing her friend's strange behavior.

"What?!" he asked, looking around. He looked down at his midsection; nothing happened. _You were just imagining it; everything is perfectly normal_, Ron thought, beginning to feel himself redden just the same. "Nothing, I'm fine, everything's fine!"

Lavender, Seamus, and Hermione were now giving him odd looks. Ron thought quickly.

"Er, how are you?"

"Anyway," Hermione continued, giving him a confused look but turning her attentions back to her original conversation, "Then, you were…"

"Augh!" Ron yelped, leaping from his seat and clutching his stomach. Things were definitely not normal.

"What's wrong?!" Hermione asked hurriedly, standing and putting her hand concernedly on Ron's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Ron stopped and looked around frantically; people from other tables were staring at him as well. _Don't draw attention to yourself, it was just a one time thing that you probably imagined. Now, sit down and listen to Hermione's embarrassing Seamus story,_ he thought to himself.

"Yes!" he exclaimed and sat down. He felt himself turning very red, but he tried to ignore that as well. _This is not happening; not now. It can't happen now. This. Isn't. Happening. Now._ "So, Mione, you were saying…?"

"I was saying…are you sure you're alright?"

Just then, he felt it again, and he knew that he was not, in fact, imagining things. 

"Oh my God!" He was out of his seat again.

"For goodness sakes, Ron, What's wrong?" Hermione asked, perplexed. Ron was now breathing quickly and clutching his stomach.

"It's moving!"

"What?" asked Seamus, Lavender, and Hermione at the same time. Suddenly, Hermione was not so clueless anymore.

"Oh!" she shrieked, jumping out of her seat as well and putting her hand on Ron's stomach. Ron guided her hand to the correct place, and for a moment it was as if nothing around him existed except for him, his wife, and this tiny little being that was kicking around inside him. He looked at Hermione with an elated and mystified look in his eyes, and she returned it with a brilliant smile. 

Then, Seamus cleared his throat, shattering the fragile glass of Ron's ideal world, and Ron began to realize that there were other people around him (and that the majority of these people were staring directly at him). 

"Ron, what's going on?" Lavender asked timidly.

Ron's ears went very pink, and he searched the far recesses of his mind for a suitable answer.

"Er, kidney stone?" he answered, turning even pinker as he realized that he had given a fairly stupid one.

Always the calm one, Hermione sighed and sat down.

"Do either of you know of the spell Addo Graviditas?" she asked, Ron noted happily, with a tinge of nervousness. 

Both Lavender and Seamus shrugged simultaneously.

"You do it," Ron ordered Hermione, plopping down in his seat, grabbing the last slice of cake and leaving Hermione to the wolves. If he was going to be thoroughly embarrassed, he might as well stuff himself with chocolate during the process.

Reviews keep my senioritis in full swing, causing me to write more and quicker, therefore…you can put the pieces together; I have faith in you :)


	3. In which Ron Gets Very Upset and Eventua...

Part III

A/N: Lots of thanks to everyone who read this and encouraged me before I finished! :) Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed and read…I appreciate it muchly. Thanks again to Zsenya for beta reading! 

****

Part III

_Finally_, Ron thought as the bus screeched to a halt at his desired location. He hastily gathered his things and hurried toward the door, muttering all the way.

As soon as he was on the sidewalk, he went in search of a deserted alleyway that would allow him to Apparate home. At least there he would have Hermione to yell at, because it was all her fault that mothers at work were staring at him and commenting to each other about his shape, and kids were laughing at him, and his boss looked at him strangely every time they passed in the hall because he had requested pregnancy leave... He shuddered as he thought of that.

__

"Hello, Dr. Kline," Ron nervously greeted his boss.

"Hello Dr. Weasley," Dr. Kline replied, sizing him up. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"

"Pregnancy leave. I'll need from…" Ron trailed off, watching his boss's face change expression. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, and then smiled. "Sorry, I was just thinking how it would be funny if it were you that was pregnant…you have all the tell-tale signs, you know…"

"Well…"

Ron shuddered. _No more of that,_ he thought. Because of the aforementioned reasons (and, in addition, the obnoxious old women on the bus, and the constant staring he felt on his back everywhere he went), he was, indeed, in rare form.

He banged the door open, at least expecting the smell of some sort of dinner to waft into the hallway - pizza, Chinese takeout, or a foreign dish whose only fan was Hermione. Hermione, as one may infer, was not a master of the culinary arts. However, the only thing he smelled was the faint remnants of a fire that had been smoldering since the night before. Even more offended by this injustice, Ron angrily hollered, "HERMIONE!" and stormed into the kitchen. "You know, I've had a very bad day today, and you _know_ I'm starving when I get home! I know you're all about the career woman thing, but you could at least be nice! I'm eating for two bloody—" He stopped short as he heard a tapping on the kitchen window. Looking to his right, he saw an owl. Grumbling, he moved to let the creature in, and snatched the note from its talons.

Dear Ron,

I'm really sorry, but there's been a disaster at work involving a miscasted fashion charm and horrendous clothes, which are now grafted onto the bodies of several test subjects. I need to stay late - I'm really sorry again.

Love,

Hermione

"DAMMIT!" Ron yelled angrily. This was too much; he was having the worst day of his life, and, to top it off, he was very, very hungry, and, apparently, he was going to stay that way. After kicking the bathroom door several times, breaking a large hole through the aforementioned door, and cussing very loudly, he heard a loud, angry knock on the door. Still very upset, Ron muttered a charm to repair the hole (he did not notice that, in his rage of uncontrollable emotions, he had turned the door purple in the process) and stomped toward the entrance to the apartment. Looking through the peephole, he saw one of the last things he wanted to see: his very angry next door neighbor, Mrs. Clark.

He opened the door, tried unsuccessfully to control the rage on his face, and coldly questioned,

"May I help you?"

"_May you help me?!_" Mrs. Clark snapped while, unlike Ron, making no effort to control her countenance. "You can start by keeping this horrible racket down! I've heard nothing but swearing and barging around and yelling from you and that girlfriend of yours, living in sin already—"

"_Wife_," Ron interrupted hotly, but he didn't get a chance to continue before she opened her mouth again.

"I don't care what she is; I only care that both of you are awful and loud!" She threw her hands up in the air and began to count her annoyances on her fingers. "My children can't sleep at night! They can hear swear words through the _very_ thin walls, and they are scared half to death of both of you, because when you're not swearing, yelling, stomping, and breaking furniture, you're playing some kinky game involving witches and wizards! Don't try to explain, because I don't want to know," she continued, seeing Ron begin to open his mouth again. "I've tried quietly knocking on the walls, I've tried complaining, I've tried calling, I've tried nice visits, and I've had it! Look at yourself, you can't even bring yourself to work out enough to bring that horrid body down to a decent size! What the hell are you going to do when you have kids? I hear through the bloody wall every day that you're _wife_ is pregnant, but you seem to be showing more than she does! You, my neighbor, are going to be a horrible father! I wouldn't be surprised if your child turned out to be a delinquent, or at the very most an overweight bastard with an uncontrollable temper!"

Ron had had enough. He was now so angry that he couldn't even yell; the only thing he could do was stand there, fuming, with his veins throbbing and his eyes bulging out of his very deep red face. Ron finally recovered enough to scream a few well-chosen words into Mrs. Clark's face, too upset to think of anything that might personally insult her. Apparently, the basics were enough in this situation; as Ron slammed the door, he saw her lunge toward him and scream. Taking out his wand, he slid it under the crack in the door and muttered, "S_ilentium_." He did not care what the consequences would be if the Ministry or Hermione ever found out that he had used "unnecessary magic" on a Muggle. To Ron's immediate satisfaction, the yelling stopped (unfortunately, he noted, it would only last for a few minutes). After banging on the door for a minute in frustration, she left, and Ron went back to being very, very angry in peace.

"Damn Mrs. Clark, doesn't know what she's (fudging) talking about. I'm too bloody complex for her to (flipping) understand," Ron growled, kicking the wall extra loudly in hopes of angering her even more.

"I'M A WIZARD! I LIKE TO EAT CHILDREN! THAT'S WHY I HAVE SUCH A BIG (FRICKING) BELLY!" Ron yelled menacingly as he gave the wall three especially loud kicks. _That will show her_, he thought. _Hermione is going to kill me_, he continued. _Hermione is at work, when she knows that I'm pregnant and that the bloody due date's in two weeks, and my feet are killing me_, he flopped onto the couch,_ and my back is killing me_, he rolled over to his side, _and I have to piss every 10 minutes_, he ignored the tell-tale feelings in his bladder, _and she isn't here!_ Just as mad as before, Ron reached over for the book on the coffee table (_So, You're Pregnant; Now What? The Modern Wizard's Guide to Conception and Beyond_) and opened to where he had left off, highlighter in hand.

"At this point, Mummy will be going through a very emotional period…blah blah blah…Daddy should do everything in his power to keep her happy," Ron muttered triumphantly, uncapping the highlighter and marking that sentence, along with others that followed, such as "Mummy needs Daddy around to give her moral support," and "Daddy should help with things around the house, like dinner…." Ron drew several arrows to that, and screamed a few more profanities and hit the wall with his book as he remembered just how hungry he was.

He didn't think he could bear standing up for any more time than what it would take for him to advance from the bathroom to the couch and visa versa, and it would take at least a half hour for a delivered dinner of any sort to arrive. His immense anger was just turning into tears when a stern knock on the door sounded for the second time that evening. Ron's face contorted once again into a look of fury, and a rage that can only be described as "The Weasley Temper" flowed through his throbbing veins. Mrs. Clark was going to get a very choice piece of his mind.

Feet and back aching, he thrust his hand onto the doorknob and flung the door open, immediately screaming, "I AM NOT A BLOODY DEADBEAT, I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR KIDS, AND IF YOU SAY ONE MORE WORD TO ME I'LL—"

"Sir?" the boy whom Ron had been screaming at tentatively interrupted. He had backed into the wall, and a look of fear was etched onto his skinny face.

Ron blinked. "Er, sorry, I thought you were someone else…." He finally began to calm down at the appearance of the stranger, in front of whom he had thoroughly embarrassed himself.

"Yeah," the frightened teenager squeaked, clutching a bag tightly in his hand.

Ron's eyes darted nervously from one end of the hallway to the other, and then back to the mysterious boy. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I-I'm a delivery wizard from The Leaky Cauldron," he answered; "I've got an order for a Ron Weasley…"

Sheepishly, Ron took the bag and walked back inside to fetch some money (not the least of which would comprise of a very large tip for the poor, befuddled delivery boy). "Here you go," Ron said sheepishly, putting money into his hand in exchange for the bag. The boy counted the sickles and nodded happily; the tip had apparently done its job.

"See ya mate, and good luck with whatever you were yelling about," he called as he skipped gleefully down the hallway, looking at his tip.

Just then, a note on the bag caught Ron's attention:

Dear Ron,

I thought you might like this. Sorry if it got there a little late; they said they were a bit busy.

Love,

Hermione

_Oh_, Ron thought, putting the bag on the coffee table and pulling out a plate of chicken, salad, and mashed potatoes, his favorite. Delighted, he sat on the couch, balanced the plate on his stomach, and turned on one of his favorite Muggle devices: the television. _I love Hermione_, he thought as he chewed.

***

"Ron," Hermione asked the following Saturday, "what's this?"

"What's what?" Ron replied, looking up from his corn flakes. 

Hermione didn't reply, but instead dropped a book on top of the _Daily Prophet_ that Ron was reading. Ron read the title: _So, You're Pregnant; Now What? The Modern Wizard's Guide to Conception and Beyond_; with a small wince, he realized that she had uncovered the marks made in the fit of rage that he'd had the previous Wednesday. "Er, a book?"

With a huff, Hermione snatched the book from where she had dropped it and began flipping pages. _Uh oh, we're going to get into a fight,_ Ron thought dismally.

"'The daddy should always be submissive to the mummy, and do such favors as massaging her feet and aching back, and cooking meals. If not, daddy can expect lots of nights on the couch!' Good, Ron; really subtle." She slammed the book shut.

"I was pissed off when I did that, alright?"

"Why was this?" Hermione crossed her arms. Ron fidgeted in his chair.

"I'd had a bad day at work, and then people were staring at me on the bus, and you weren't home and Mrs. Clark came over and started yelling at me—"

"That brings me to another thing: what did you say to that woman? Now she won't even look at me when we pass in the hall." 

"And this is a bad thing?" Ron adopted a mischievous look. _That's it, try and woo her with your attractive roguish charm._

"Ron, we're supposed to be trying to _fit in_ here!" Hermione threw her arms in the air in exasperation. "You're the one that wanted to live in Muggle London; we could have easily lived in Hogsmeade, or the wizard area in London."

"And be near Fred and George, or Percy? Right."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I want to be by myself for once; do something one of them hasn't done first!"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, stop it, there are many things that you've done that they haven't."

"Like what?"

"Er…" Hermione thought quickly. "Marry me, for instance."

"Are you sure none of them's done that before?"

At this, all sympathy left Hermione's voice. "Stop whining and be a man for once. Face it; you complain too much."

"I think I have the right, considering," Ron spat. 

Hermione snorted in exasperation. "Haven't you gotten over it yet? You used up your right to complain at least three months ago! I feel no pity for you; in fact, I think you deserve it!"

"NO ONE deserves this! My feet hurt, my back hurts, I've had doctors poke me in places I didn't know I had, I feel like crying every second of the day, I have to pee _all the time_, I look like I'm hiding a basketball under my shirt, _and_ I'm constipated!"

"Ron, it's all part of the joy of being a woman. Now hurry up and get dressed or we'll be late for Lamaze class."

"I hate you," he muttered, standing up with aggravation and stomping into the bathroom. Hermione blew him a kiss and sat down in his place to read the paper.

***

As they pulled into the parking lot (Hermione, despite her love of all things in the wizard world, retained a fondness for driving), Hermione looked over at Ron and was surprised to see that he was completely void of color. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned, placing a hand on his extruding abdomen.

"I…I…never mind," Ron answered weakly, swearing as he made a sudden move to fumble with the stubborn seatbelt.

"Ron," Hermione continued, growing more concerned, "Are you alright?" She gave him a worried look, and Ron's resolve seemed to melt at the sight.

"I…" he began, trying to find the right words. "I'm having a baby."

Hermione looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to continue (a wise voice inside her head told her not to say "and?").

"I…well, I'm scared. Mrs. Clark's right, I'm going to be a horrible mother, and I'm a horrible person, and—"

"Oh, enough of that," Hermione replied gently, kissing him on the cheek. "You are going to be a wonderful mother, and you are a wonderful person…"

"Mmm," Ron grunted in reply, obviously not satisfied with the answer that he had received.

"Well, you know me, and I don't settle for anything less than the best. I picked you, didn't I? That has to say something," Hermione shot playfully, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched other couples walk into the building.

"I guess you're right then," Ron answered, grinning a bit. He seemed to be satisfied with this reply.

Hermione suddenly looked up, causing Ron to turn his head from the windshield to her. "What did Mrs. Clark say to you, exactly? I'm still curious," she inquired.

"Er…never mind," Ron mumbled, fumbling with the seatbelt again in effort to get out of the car.

"No you don't," Hermione said, quickly securing his shoulder with her hand. 

Ron sighed resignedly. "She said I'm a horrible person and that our child is going to be horrible, and…lots of other things." He stopped, waiting for Hermione to begin to yell at him; however, several seconds passed and she remained silent. "Hermione?"

"Mrs. Clark's children are drones!" Hermione spat, suddenly and furiously. "They have no independent thoughts, and she is a stupid, anal retentive know-it-all who thinks that she's better than me just because she has a college degree! What that woman thinks means nothing, so stop worrying about it. If I had my way, I would never see her again."

After a slight pause, Ron started laughing softly and shaking his head.

"What?" Hermione asked suspiciously as his laughing grew louder.

"You insulted her!" he triumphantly answered.

"So? Can't I dislike a person?" Hermione questioned defensively.

"You can dislike as many people as you want, as long as you admit that, for once, I was right!"

"Right about what?" Hermione asked incredulously. 

"Earlier, I said that not talking with her would be a good thing, and you said we have to fit in so we should talk to her, and you just contradicted yourself, making me right!"

Hermione just stared at him.

"Admit it! I won this one, and you lost! I was right and you were wrong!"

Hermione continued to stare.

"Come on, say it!" he prodded, grinning widely in triumph.

"You're right, and pathetic," she answered blankly, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door.

"I take them as they come," he answered, following suit.

***

"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" Hermione asked an hour later as she walked out of the door in a huff. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, following her in a fashion that indicated that he was equally as annoyed.

"You're always in a bad mood! Wherever we go, all you do is insult people!"

"It's not my fault that Gina can't keep her mouth shut!"

"All she did was try to explain the breathing to you, and you practically bit off her head!" Hermione scowled, opening the car door and climbing inside. Ron lagged further behind.

"Why is it that every time I try to stand up for myself, I'm biting someone's head off?" he grumbled, bending down to tie his shoe. After much difficulty with the task - and several swear words uttered about the difficulty - he straightened himself up and began to walk again.

However, before he had gone three paces, Ron unexpectedly stopped mid step; his eyes suddenly bugged out of his head and his face immediately became as red as any Weasley had ever been known to become. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't feeling the feelings that he had been actively dreading for the past week. He was imagining it, he decided; this was not happening - not then, not that night (or, for the sake of this story, that afternoon)! Beginning to hyperventilate, he decided that he would keep walking, albeit slowly, and get in the car with Hermione. Then, they would go home, and they would continue to argue as usual and go to sleep mad at each other, only to wake up the next morning like nothing had happened. _Yes, that's it; just have to keep walking…. _Ron continued walking, as promised, and very slowly began advancing toward the car. He was sweating. _One foot, then the other…that's it now…bloody hell, this isn't happening,_ he thought, frantically doing his best not to pay any mind to the tell-tale feelings that were currently begging for his attention. _I'm not ready for this…we haven't even painted the stupid bedroom yet…_

Just then, Hermione opened the window of the car and called out to Ron, looking a little annoyed. "Come on, we haven't got all day; we're meeting my parents for lunch!"

Ron, at a loss for words, could not answer with anything other than a small, frightened squeak. _She can't suspect anything, because this isn't really happening. Liam isn't going anywhere._

"Ron?" Hermione called, more annoyed than before. "Why do you always act like a whining idiot? Forget about the stupid fight and get in the car!"

_Good, my plan is working._ Ron tried to start walking again, and laboriously advanced toward the car.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione yelled. Ron looked up to see that she had opened the door so that she could yell at him more effectively. "Would you like me to physically _push_ you?"

Ron vigorously shook his head to indicate that he did not, indeed, need help. She became crosser and crosser as he got closer and closer; finally, Ron reached the car door, thinking, _Victory is mine, at last!_

"Ron," Hermione asked, all traces of anger gone from her voice and replaced with worry.

"What? What's wrong?" Ron asked, clutching his belly while furiously thinking, _I'm your father and I say to stay where you are, you little prat_. Then, he noticed Hermione looking down at his jeans, which, he realized as he craned his neck to the side to look as well, were unfathomably wet…

"What the—?!" _How did I miss that?!_

"Are you in labor, Ron?" Hermione asked calmly.

"Well—I—NO! I'm not in labor! Why would I be in labor?" _Stop it, stop it stop it, stop it! _

Hermione studied him carefully, putting the pieces together and comprehending the reality of the situation. Ron watched her do this, knowing that soon his calm, quiet life would all but end. 

"You idiot," Hermione announced, paling. "Your water's broken."

Ron felt like his heart had stopped beating. "Shit."

"Don't swear; the baby can hear you."

"I don't bloody care. What do we do now?" Ron was beginning to shake, both from pure fear and from the enormous amount of pressure that he was feeling.

"Get in the car; I'm driving you to the hospital," Hermione suddenly decreed as her reasonable and authoritative self overcame the extraordinarily nervous young mother-to-be.

"But—" Ron stammered.

"But what?" Hermione snapped, getting immediately fed up and walking over to where Ron stood, rooted to the spot, to literally push him into the car.

"I don't want to go to the hospital!" he panted as Hermione opened his door and forced him into the car. "I don't want to have the baby now!"

"Well, sorry to tell you this so late into the process, but in case you didn't notice, you don't exactly get a choice!" she called as she ran back over to the other side of the car.

"What else is new?!" Ron yelled, sweating. "I haven't had a choice of my own in eight months!"

Hermione climbed in the car and turned the key to start the engine. "Oh, suck it up!" she shouted as she looked behind her to back out.

"Wait!" Ron hollered. "Why are we driving?"

"Why not?" she asked, turning the wheel and accelerating backwards.

"Because we're a witch and a wizard, and we _Apparate_!"

Hermione stopped and thought for a second. "Oh," she replied curtly, pulling the car back into its parking space.

"YOU ARE THE BIGGEST MUGGLE I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!" Ron yelled, face now at the point of purple.

"Oh, be quiet," Hermione grumbled, Apparating with a *pop.* Ron muttered several curse words and followed directly.

At St. Mungo's, Ron found Hermione at a desk telling a receptionist what was going on; almost immediately, medical staff came and rushed him to a hospital room, where he was promptly strapped onto a bed. 

"What is going on?!" he called to Hermione, who was close behind.

"Calm down, everything's alright…let's do the breathing we did in Lamaze—"

"Doctor, he's dilated quite a bit…this is going to be a very short labor," a nurse commented.

"You're lucky, then," the doctor replied to Ron, whose face was now beginning to contort with pain.

"Come on, breathe," Hermione tried to encourage him as she patted his shoulder and emulated the breathing techniques they had been taught during the weeks before.

"THIS ISN'T FAIR!" he yelled, clutching Hermione's hand much harder than what would have normally elicited a yelp of pain from her.

"Would you like us to perform the painless pregnancy spell?" the doctor asked.

Hermione ignored him and continued to try and console Ron. "Calm down; we're supposed to breathe—"

"Screw the breathing!… Do the spell thing!"

"We agreed to a natural childbirth, and you are not getting the spell!" Hermione stated (loudly).

"I…want the…spell!" he screamed.

"Deal with it!" she screamed right back.

"This is MY body…and I WANT THAT SPELL." With great effort, he propped himself up on his elbows.

"You are NOT getting the spell!"

"YOU'RE…the one who chickened out!….YOU HAVE NO…IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE!"

"I DID NOT CHICKEN OUT. YOU were the one being an arse! You deserved it, and still do deserve it!"

"NO ONE…DESERVES…THIS!"

"Someone has to do it!"

"IT…SHOULD…BE…YOU!"

"Well, think about that the next time you decide to call me a POOR, MISPLACED DUCK!"

"Ron, we're going to need you to start pushing," the doctor interjected, looking a bit harried. 

Purple faced, Ron replied, "I…WILL…NOT…PUSH."

"Fine then!" Hermione yelled. "Just fine! It can stay in there forever!"

"IT'S NAME…IS LIAM!" Ron hollered, his face seeming to have permanently taken on its shade of purple.

"Ron, you have to push," the doctor interrupted again, trying to be calm and persuasive.

Ron vigorously shook his head.

"DO IT," Hermione ordered, "Or no more Quidditch games!"

"YOU…CAN'T TELL ME…WHAT…TO DO!" he screamed painfully as the doctors adjusted him to the appropriate birthing position.

"TRY ME. NOW PUSH!"

In too much pain to resist any more, Ron obeyed the doctors.

"I…HATE…YOU!" he cried, his world getting blurry.

"Shut up and push," she replied, not commenting on the fact that she thought her hand may be broken.

"YOU…ARE…PURE…EVIL."

"I try," Hermione breathed, distracted by what was happening on the other end of the situation.

"The head's almost out," the doctor commented. "You're almost there, Ron, one more."

"Come on, you can do it! After this, you can go back to being normal again!" Hermione pleaded, suddenly seeming very kind and sympathetic. Ron looked like he was going to cry.

"Really?" he whimpered, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Really," she replied consolingly.

Ron looked like he was deeply considering what she was saying. "Fine…" he squeezed out, tearfully preparing himself for the last go…

There was one more flare of immense pain, and then, through his swimming vision that was teetering on the edge of darkness, Ron heard lots of high pitched shrieking that he was fairly certain didn't come from Hermione.

"What…what happened?" he moaned, seeing the doctor checking over and cleaning what looked like a small, flailing, and very pink doll. He felt himself getting even more confused; _Is this it?_ he thought dazedly.

"Congratulations," the doctor announced after a few moments. "It's a girl." He wrapped the baby in a blanket and exited the room, leaving a nurse behind to help them, muttering something about how glad he was that Addo Graviditas was rarely used anymore, and how he needed an anti-headache charm.

Ron unsuccessfully tried to pull himself up; he could see Hermione holding a bundle of blankets with a look of heartfelt awe on her face. 

"'Mione…help me," he grumbled, still panting. She woke from her mini trance and immediately sat down by him to show her husband what he had carried in his ill prepared stomach for 8 months.

"See…it's our daughter." She held the bundle out so that he could see.

Ron couldn't speak; in front of him was a small, crying, wrinkled, and very red miniature human being. His mouth dropped open and he felt tears well up in his eyes. _This is MY daughter…_

Hermione smiled as she saw his reaction. "Come on, you can hold her," she said, gently nudging him with her elbow.

Shaking, he held out his arms, and Hermione placed his daughter in them. He felt the softness of the blankets against his skin up to where his hospital gown sleeves began, and saw the baby immediately begin to calm down at the sound of a familiar heartbeat.

"She…she knows me!" he exclaimed, surprised, unable to hold back a few tears as he touched one of his hands to her face. 

"Well, you're her mother/father," Hermione smirked, putting her arm around his shoulder and squeezing. Ron couldn't reply.

"What?" Hermione asked, kissing him on the cheek.

"I'm just…completely in awe," Ron responded, taking a second to pick out the words he wanted. "This is our daughter…this came from me…"

"I played a small role, too," Hermione intervened.

"You did, but I was the star."

"Mmm hmm," Hermione agreed, glaring a bit.

"And now, it's over…"

"Unless you count the 18 years we spend with Aine in the house before she graduates from Hogwarts."

"Yeah…" Ron absentmindedly agreed, transfixed by his baby's face. Suddenly, he snapped out of it. "Wait a minute—She is NOT named Aine!"

"What's she named, then?" Hermione challenged.

"Samantha," Ron announced, waiting eagerly for the vicious retort Hermione was sure to come up with. Hermione looked thoughtful.

"You know, Samantha isn't that bad…though I like Aine better."

"I carried her, I get to name her," Ron declared.

"You know that I'm only agreeing to this because I like the name too, right?"

"And because I was right."

"Whatever you say. But her middle name is Aine."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You got to pick the first name."

He considered this. "Fine, but I still hate you," he grumbled, kissing Samantha Aine Weasley on the forehead and smoothing her dark hair.

"I love you, too," Hermione replied, doing the same.

****

THE END

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